Are You Real, Dean Winchester?
by Katherine.aka.Kat
Summary: Castiel struggles to survive in a world that was never right for him to begin with. So far, he has always survived his turbulent mind... because despite everything, his broken brain, his loneliness, the never-ending struggle, he's a fighter. One night, reckless, borderline overdosed on his meds, he wanders the streets, foregoing his self-preservation. Enter Dean Winchester.
1. I Can Go, If You Want

He stumbled through the streets, his broken brain chemistry blurring his vision and stomping all over his common sense, until it was a bloody whimpering heap in the corner of his mind. Unsure where he was, he focused on putting one foot in front of the other, like he'd been doing his whole life. To keep going, to ignore all the voices in his head and trying to obey them all at once. To stay alive while every ounce of his brain was wired to end him. You'd think rock bottom has an actual bottom, but turns out it doesn't when it comes to the darkest recesses of the mind. There was always a next edge he could keel over and wonder what kind of fresh kind this was…

Someone yelling at him registered through the haze, though the meaning of the words didn't. He could take a wild guess, because he knew his system was giving off every damn signal that meant he ought to be behind locked doors for the coming days. Who cared? Even if a knot-head got a hold of him, it wouldn't matter. He was broken and there was nothing that hadn't been done to him before. He let rip a manic laugh, flipping the bird over his shoulder, tears obscuring his view even more. More noise came over him like a wave and he bumped into someone. Over-compensating against the sudden obstacle, he reeled the other way, almost off balance, but maintained his footing. Another giggle ripped its way out of his chest, trying to tear him apart, mocking days when he had known what real laughter was.

Although did he really? He couldn't remember a time when his brain hadn't done what it had always done and that's actively try to destroy him. Medication he'd been on had sent him through a decade of "yes", "no", "maybe" and "I don't know anymore but the side-effects will surely make my life exciting". He'd given up on that too. At least he thought he had? There was a throbbing in his head that felt like the last-but-one-dose change. Except too much, too much.

He tripped or maybe someone tripped him up, and a weight landed on his back. Ah, here we go. Maybe this time it'd be the end? He fought. He always had. That was one of the only things he knew for sure about himself. Fighter. Against all the damned odds. Against the tidal wave of life itself. He never quit. Until now perhaps, if his assailant succeeded.

He pushed words out, his throat hurting, because he didn't talk to people enough, the pain getting worse when he started to scream. Something hurt, bad, his face colliding with the wet cobbled street and he tasted iron. If they could just knock him out already, he'd be grateful. Anything to stop feeling… it's what he'd been trying to achieve all night. Briefly he went weightless, someone angling his hips, then a hand clamped down on his skull, pressing him face down. Despite the booze, the pills, his body's muscle memory responded to the fondling touches. Cold air hit his skin and he fought, again, harder, but his heat overwrote everything. Some of the haze lifted and fear finally had wiggle room, when the weight of the guy on top of him got worse and pain kicked in.

Fingers yanked at his hair and a tongue wrestled his mouth open. He bit down hard. Coherent cursing registered and he found he was sobbing and laughing at the same time, and he screamed when things got infinitely worse. His mind finally did him the favour of blacking out, but not soon enough not to turn it into memories.

He came to with a gasp. In his bed.

Everything hurt, but he wasn't sure if it was because it really happened or it had been a nightmare. Either way was a nightmare. He brought his hands to his face, feeling for bruises and found them. Still couldn't tell what caused them, but they were fresh. Slipped in the shower? Patted himself down. No, he was dressed in his slacks and a shirt. Fresh shirt. Maybe just a regular fall. Those happen. His tongue clung to the roof of his mouth and it hurt to move, but he did it anyway, wanting to feel the pain. Another day, another night, another win.

Ha.

He rolled out of the bed, barely catching himself… nope, not catching himself, as he winced and went down on his knees. Braced on his palms, he pushed himself up to meditation position, balls of his feet pressed into the mat, toes curled. He needed to get up, there was something here… something he needed to do. Find. He could hardly remember his own name sometimes, let alone what he had to do.

With a deep breath, he lifted one knee up, both hands gripping at the knee, tight, then pushed with his foot to steady himself on both legs. He waited to see if he'd keep his balance, hands out, and stumbled out the bedroom. In the hallway, that same sensation came over him. He breathed in deeper, regaining some clarity as he did it. He squinted his eyes shut and opened them, blinking. The world looked a bit foggy.

He wanted food. Maybe? Or at least a spoonful of honey. It might help soothe his throat. With an objective in mind, he found it easier to focus and walked down the hall to descend the staircase. Strangely he smelled food. Steak? No. Paprika. Onion. And warm buns.

Burgers?

He curled his toes into the soft mat downstairs, hesitant, when he heard someone pottering about in his kitchen. Did someone else live here? He shook his head at the preposterous thought. No one wanted to live with him. People had tried and left, when they got sick of him or when he stopped… doing what they wanted, or when he couldn't anymore… or sometimes, in rare moments of clarity, he'd kicked them out. That was one thing he knew for sure. He was alone.

Except when he turned to peek into the kitchen, there was a person. A man, moving through his kitchen, not quite at ease, but smooth enough to make him wonder if he was wrong. They were burgers he smelled. Giant, home-made burgers were being assembled as he watched. Meat patty, smoking and dripping, lettuce, tomato, cheese, and two sauces squirted on the inside of the bun. Fresh baked fries on the side. Glasses of coke.

His feet had carried him in before he realized and then the guy turned around. Stranger. Stranger whose eyebrows shot up, who cursed as he almost dropped the food, set it down, staggered back and put a hand over his chest.

"Holy shit, you're awake!"

Awkwardness replaced the relative ease of seconds ago. "Okay, I'm sorry… This must seem weird. I… Look, I found you… Wandering around. Not exactly lucid. Alone. I initially thought it was none of my business, but…"

He kept his tongue, watching this guy's face as he spoke.

"I dunno, I heard some racket down the street. Some knotheads…" He licked his lips, frowning, eyes cast down, and he felt the anger waft off him. A soft whimper escaped him and this stranger sensed it, because he instantly switched demeanors. "Shit, I… Sorry! It's okay. You're okay. I intervened, they didn't, y'know, and… but you were out. So I looked for your address and brought you home. I tried finding contacts, anyone to call for you. I…"

"There's no one."

He snapped his mouth shut, something like pity in the other man's face and he loathed it, but then it shifted, like it wasn't quite pity and he sniffed the air. Empath.

"Why?" he asked.

He opened his arms, giving a mild shrug and wiped his hands down. "I've been told I like sav… Helping. And I didn't want to leave you like that. I called a doctor in. You.. You're fine. Ish. I mean, you may have a few _issues_?"

He snorted a dark laugh at that kind, apt suggestion, making the other uncomfortable.

"I… shit, I'm sorry, this must sound so off, but I didn't just want to leave you. That seemed worse than… this."

"A guardian angel then?"

The joke landed flat, because his voice sounded like gravel and… something was off.

"Are you hungry?"

"Starving, actually."

"Okay, great. I… I can go, if you want."

"No! No, umm, you made two burgers." The warmth in the kitchen. The light radiating out from behind this kind man in front of him. It made him want to hold on, even if he wasn't sure it was not an elaborate hallucination.

"Okay, yeah, I did. I didn't know when you were going to wake up and bought too much stuff."

"That's… that's okay. I'll pay you back."

On instinct, that. And hilarious, because he barely had any money.

"No need. It's fine. Just… Enjoy the food. You look.. like you could use it."

He slipped onto the bar stool, giving a small smile and then lost himself in the scent and flavor of the food, his olfactory senses whining at him incessantly. If it wasn't for the quality of it reminding him he never would have done this for himself, he might as well have been alone, caught between wolfing it down and trying to savor every bite. It wasn't until there was a trail of juice running down his arms that he emptied his hands of food to wipe his face, hands and arm down, a sheepish feeling coming over him.

A soft chuckle from across the table drew his eyes there and he found an equally messy eater. "I can never keep clean eating these. And I don't think God intended us to be."

He scoffed at the mention of God. "I doubt he cares."

"You're probably right," he nodded, dangling the last, messy bits of his burger over his open mouth with a crooked smile.

He let out a laugh that surprised himself and dug back into the last of his own plate. The silence that fell after lasted a touch too long for comfort and he realized the kitchen was a mess, they didn't know each other's names, he didn't know _in what state _the guy had found him or what ought to happen next, in situations like these. He figured they'd start somewhere simple and learned they were thinking the same thing.

"Dean."

"Castiel."

He huffed softly and they laughed.

"Let's get this in the dishwasher…"

"Ah, no, that won't… It's broken. Don…Don't open it!" He rose from the bar stool, but it was too late.

"Oh, jeezes!" Dean slammed the dishwasher shut again, gagging slightly. "How long has that been in there?"

He felt his blood drain from his face at the revelation of his own disgusting living conditions. "I.. A while. I've been going through a rough patch."

"You don't say?" He looked at him, wiping his sleeve under his nose, and frowned at the offensive appliance. "Well.. Do you have any tools?"

"Tools?"

"Yeah, you know, those metal things you use to fix shit?"

"In the… Yes, in the back room, I think?"

"Okay, great. Give me ten minutes."

He leaned his hip into the kitchen counter, mystified, when Dean returned with the tool box. Like he'd never done anything else in his life, he started working on the dishwasher, long legs splayed out on the kitchen floor. For wont of something to do, he started doing the dishes the old-fashioned way, grimacing at the piles of it he'd stacked up over who knows how long.

"Seriously? I'm fixing this thing. Give me some credit."

When he glanced down at Dean, his eyes widened with fear. He'd insulted him? Dean's breath hitched for a second and he looked at him, worry apparent in his face.

"Whoa, it's a joke, don't worry about it. I'll help you when I'm done."

"No, I mean, you're already helping plenty and I don't even know you, and I don't understand… Part of me thinks you're not even real."

"What, the burgers weren't proof enough?"

"I can come up with lotsa good food."

"Fine, man, watch your functioning dishwasher prove it."

Yes, he thought, because having you, a perfect stranger, lying on my floor is on the sane side of hallucinations. He quietly got to the task of clearing weeks, if not months of dirty dishes to the sound of him working on the dishwasher, trying not to glance at the floor too often, acutely aware of Dean's presence close to his bare feet.

"Do you need any help?"

"Huh? No. Why?"

"Cause it's taking you a bit more than ten minutes."

"Hilarious."

He tucked his chin, even though Dean's tone was gentle. "I'm sorry."

Dean's sudden warmth next to him made him jump and slosh water over the edge. "Stop apologizing. We're good. And I'm done."

With a few clicks, the dishwasher started running with the steady hum he found soothing. Dean stepped towards him, reaching for a towel to help with the dishes. It didn't fully register, because having him stand so close did a number on his system, his scent overwhelming him, and before Castiel knew it, he was making a beeline for the floor.

"Whoa, watch it!"

And everything went black again.


	2. Stare Down The Abyss

When he woke, he instantly noticed the house smelled different. Cleaner? Like honey trickled over freshly baked chocolate cake, and fresh leather. It sparked his brain to life the second it registered, his nostrils flaring wide. A vivid dream if ever he'd had one, but something in his chest told him it could have been real.

So he got out of bed and resisted the urge to rush downstairs, afraid… then did anyway, hopeful elation pounding in his chest. He turned into the kitchen and found it empty. It was clean. He frowned when he noticed everything was restocked, his fridge full of items, some of which he didn't know. Or had forgotten. So it had been real.

He wandered to the living room. Also empty.

He contemplated the bathroom, but no sound. Empty.

So he was gone? It could make sense. He couldn't remember how the burger night ended, but all in all, he was fine, he guessed. As fine as he was going to be. So maybe his guardian angel finally made the sensible decision and moved on.

A tightness squeezed his heart until he thought it was going to break.

Maybe for the best. No one needed someone like him in their life. Hell, he had tried saving people like himself in the misguided conviction that he was capable of it, because of his experiences. That it'd fill the gaping black hole. It had never ended well. But to have had that warmth, as scattered and brief as it had been, hurt more than the endless darkness before. The dark numbed everything down to the point where it didn't matter. The permanent lows were easier than this. He'd unconsciously followed the upward spike and stared down the abyss. He knew this. So well.

That didn't mean it wouldn't hurt on the way down.

Blind, he went back to the bathroom, searching for his meds. Any meds, really, he realized, when he combined a handful of them, hoping they'd make the crash easier. Or knock him out so he could awaken at the bottom and take it from there, in search of the next edge. He gulped them down with two handfuls of water and found his way back to his bedroom.

He noticed a lot more blankets and pillows there, organized with care, and let out a sob as he rolled into the empty space inside, big enough for two.

He clung to the window frame, its cold metal against his cheek adding to the calm of the moment. The sky was pitch-black above, except for a sliver of a moon, the light of the lantern below scattered bright white reflections over every surface. The car, the cobblestones, the darkened windows. All surrounding apartments were lifeless. There is nothing quite like the silence of night. The absence of life being lived. His feet were cold on the windowsill and the metal cut into his ass uncomfortably. He peered down past his toes at the ground six floors down, contemplating. He thought he saw movement, but couldn't see much. Maybe a cat.

His mind felt clear. Ish. Clearer than it had been in a while, so there was that. He'd slipped one leg over, then another, the window cold at his side. No breeze, just the night air and the quiet. Quietquietquiet. Alone.

He was now convinced the guy had been a hallucination. Maybe… Maybe he'd gone shopping himself. Maybe he stole a bunch of shit. Very healthy shit, mind you. Maybe the nice lady two floors down helped him out again, though he seemed to recall an angry shouting match that ended with spit in his face. Insults of loser, waste of space, liar, make room for better people. That might have been someone else. Either way a valid point. He scooted around, his butt hurt, and inched further out. He lowered his arms to his sides, gripping the window frame tighter and leaned forward. His stomach flipped and his breath hitched.

He smiled at the vertigo. The chills.

One hand let go and even the vertigo went over the edge, as he dangled by just the strength of one arm and his toes dug into the window sill. For a few blessed seconds, this was it, a tilted moment in time, until a pair of arms gripped around his waist and hauled him back into his bedroom. Deep-seated fear wafted over him and mingled with blind panic, as they went down in a mess of limbs. He rolled away from him, scrambling for cover, but whoever had done this had no interest.

Instead of attacking him again, the man closed the window and turned around, blocking his access to it. He raised his hands, palms out, and he saw those lips move but the sounds didn't register. It was him. He'd recognize that face anywhere. He was back. His fear response was in the driver's seat, because when he started to walk closer, he could only back up, crying and slurring nonsense.

And then his voice registered through the haze.

"… It's alright. I… Are you okay? Scratch that, stupid question. What do you need me to do?"

His breathing ran ragged, his vision blurry and he tried to nod, at least registering the sentiment, but failed to get his mouth to work. Failed to do anything, except ride the wave of panic and he knew it was coming off him in waves, filling up the small bedroom.

When he tried to take another step closer, he shook his head, whimpering, caught in the broken parts of his brain, the ones screwed up and over a thousand times by time, meds and experience. He pressed his back flush against the wall, trying to disappear, forget, turn everything off. Please, please, please, someone make it quiet.

He held his position and spoke, voice low, soft, reassuring. "You can't smell this, can you? Jeez, easy, it's okay, you're safe. You're safe. Just… Let me come closer and… so you scent me, alright?"

Scent? He hadn't scented anyone in years. Plenty had scented him, with or without permission. Why would he… No one smelled right, everyone left.

"Come on, man."

He shivered. There was something in that voice. Like he cared about him. And that was just too much. Too cruel. He bolted. Backed out of his room into the hallway. It wasn't real. It couldn't be. It was his mind playing tricks on him, telling them there was someone who cared. There was no point engaging, not unless he wanted to spread his already shattered pieces to the four corners of the wind. There was a gleam to the man's eyes – what had his name been? – when he turned his back on him and bailed down the stairs.

He found the front door locked and no keys in sight. Footsteps coming down the stairs. He turned and ran back, found himself face to face with this exquisite, painful hallucination.

"Cas."

Oh. Name. Nickname. Something cut through the haze in his mind and that scent he thought he imagined earlier was back, stronger, overwhelmingly so, and he made eye contact with… Dean.


	3. Are You A Masochist?

"_Dean_."

"Yeah," he said, relief flooding across the distance. "Yeah, okay… Hi. Are you… back with me?"

"I… I think so. I… I'm sorry. Why did you…"

"Why did I pull you away from the window?"

"I… Yes."

"Cause you looked like you were about to jump and I _really_ didn't want that to happen."

"Was I?"

Deep grief went through him like a shockwave. "Sure looked like it. I'm sorry if I hurt you."

"I… No, I'm… fine. I… Thank you."

"Sure about that?"

He managed a small smile. "I think so."

Slow, he walked closer to this mirage of hope in his living room. "You're real?"

With a nod, he stepped closer, reaching out both hands. "Just… touch me. I'm here."

"Where were you?"

"I went home to get some fresh clothes and some of my, uhm, stuff."

Perfectly reasonable. So not a hallucination? After a heartbeat's hesitation, he put one palm to Dean's. Warm. Resistance when he pushed. Curiosity sparked, but whose it was, he couldn't say.

"Why?"

A dumbfounded look. "Why what?"

"Why are you here?"

He kept his silence and his eye contact, and the loud ba-dum of his heart kicked in at the feeling. "Please don't look at me like that."

"Will you… do something for me?"

Oh… Favors. Of course. His heart plummeted, his dejection stinking up the place in seconds.

Dean grimaced. "Ahh… good grief. Will you let me stand a bit closer?"

"That's it?"

"There's a follow-up. One thing at a time."

"Look.. if you just want to fuck me, just…" He waved an impatient hand.

Dean paled at the suggestion and shook his head, speechless, his warm hand against his turning clammy. "What the… What kind of people have you hung out with, man? Nothing of the sort."

A stubborn wave of comfort and safety and trust wafted over him, but other than that he felt the answer was up to him. After some silent warring in his head, he nodded.

"You may step closer."

Dean did. The comforting feeling became more intense. He tried to keep his face neutral, his mouth watering at the invasion of… Whatever this was. His own unease mellowed marginally… the scent pleading with him to believe, give in, trust, and everything else screaming bloody murder.

"Now what?"

"Breathe in."

"Pardon?"

"Breathe in. Inhale. Mouth open."

A thrumming sense of urgency became the undercurrent, just like that, sending his heart hammering. Their hands were still pressed together and he could feel Dean's body heat, so close to his own. His mouth going slack, as he licked his lips, the roof of his mouth, and breathed in.

Honey, chocolate cake, leather… layered with a heavy Autumn wind and strangely, something he could only describe as the smell of the deepest soil Earth has to offer after heavy rain, something that reminded him of a home among the stars, chasing the Universe.

With it, his mind cleared. Enough to actually see who was in front of him and his world shifted. Dean squinted a soft smile at him.

"Is this real?" he whispered.

A shy smile, a touch of a blush bringing out freckles in a face, cut like marble, yet soft around the neck. "Yeah… It is."

Dean pushed against his palm. "What does this smell like to you?"

The blush deepened, but the words were spoken in an unwavering voice, steeped in wonder and eagerness, slow and steady like the worthiest of foundations to build on. "Oh, man… Umm, you smell like home-made apple pie with whipped cream, freshly mown grass, whiskey on the rocks, a Summer bonfire… and I dunno, space. Like ozone? Not that I've ever smelled that before, but… it feels like a home carved in a massive tree, roots deep, leaves in the heavens."

"You're real, you're real." He sobbed through his laugh and teary eyes. "I… Oh, shit, you're _real_. I… I'm…"

"Hold it right there."

His mind stuttered to a halt when That Voice registered and he glared. "Did you just…"

"Yes, I sure as hell did."

"You can't just…"

"Hear me out, please." He pressed harder into his palm and entwined their fingers. "I don't know what happened to you, I don't know how you got here, but I've… I've felt what you've felt these past weeks."

_Weeks?!_

"I… I don't know how to describe the darkness you move through, but I've never seen anyone as strong as you."

He scoffed.

"Dude, trust me… I've felt it and…" Dean shook his head, frowning, lips pursed. "I don't know how you manage. I won't pretend to understand that darkness, but I know guilt. Okay? I know guilt… and I can smell it from miles away. I can smell it on you right now."

"Good. Because I still have the right to ask the question."

Dean gave a curt nod, dimples appearing. "Whether you're worth it?"

He swallowed hard. "That… Whether you even want… this… me, that darkness, in your life? Cause it's not going away. It's messed up. It's exhausting. It lashes out from the shadows, barely announcing itself and there is… there is _fuck all_ you can do about it."

"That's okay."

"No, it isn't."

"I'm saying it's okay that it's a part of you. That it shows up. You had… like no walls up these past weeks, I've been there with you… Sort of. It's part of you."

"I hate it."

"And I don't."

"Are you a masochist?"

He chuckled. "Maybe. I've been accused of wanting to save people…"

"Please don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't try to save me. It'll only destroy you. And I dunno, but you shine too bright for that."

Dean made a face at that, as if confused. "You forget I saw into the dark with you… and I'm no stranger to it myself. I know why you feel this way. You don't need saving…"

Again he scoffed. "That'd be a first. All this, it's because my brain is broken."

"Perhaps… in a way. Not sure if it's broken, or if you're just wired differently.. in a world that isn't right for you. Way it felt for me.. You feel so much… Because the world is such a shitty place and you've been dealt some of the crappiest cards."

This was hitting too close to home and he squirmed at the thought… "How _much_ did you see?"

"I mean.. I didn't see memories, if that's what you're worried about. I only know what you told me, or what you sometimes… talked about while you were out, but no.. I sank into your feelings with you."

"Oh, for fuck's sake.. I am so sorry. No one should have to…"

Dean cut him off, putting his other hand to his lips. The intimacy of the gesture surprised him and the fact that he didn't balk away even more so.

"But not everything that's broken needs to be fixed. Just loved. Understood. Accepted. If you'll let me."

Afraid to let the words sink in, he pushed past it. Questioned it. Because nothing good could come of this. Good things never happened to him. Things didn't change. Not for the better anyway. "I'll repeat the question. Why?"

His eyes narrowed. "Didn't I ask you to breathe in?"

"You did."

"Then you know why."

"Yeah, any second now we're gonna start moving in circles. Circles devoid of critical thought and who ever got smarter by doing that? Listen… Just because that… is a thing doesn't mean you have to abide by it."

Dean made a face, a twinge of sour trickled through the scents. "It's a choice. For both of us."

"Exactly, so.. why throw yourself at this. Don't you have anyone? I mean… A guy like you.. saving people off the street, taking care of them for weeks, fixing dishwashers for fuck's sake.. all in all, the odds should be in your favor."

"You'd think so, right? I told you. I'm no stranger to the shadows. I lost my family long ago. Only a brother left and he's living the apple pie life. Lived with them for a while, but… you know it's not right. I've just been moving through the world… trying to help those who can't help themselves. None of it stuck, none of it felt…" He shrugged.

"And forgetting yourself in the process," he said, realizing the emotions were travelling a two-way-street. He dove in, trying to distinguish which was whose. "Right?"

"I've been told that once or twice."

"Once or twice, huh? So who's to say you won't forget yourself in this too?"

"Because it feels different. I feel more real.. than I ever have. I've always had a home in myself, but … now it feels like it's rooted, expanded. Warm. But it's not just the roots… It's like…"

"… like the skies have opened up and there's a breeze coming through windows that have been shut for so long."

They stared at each other for a while.

"So you feel it too."

"It's difficult not to be aware… I'm not denying it's there, just questioning your sanity."

A crooked smile and a cocky head gesture. "Oh, question away."

He leaned in a touch, tilting his head towards Dean's neck. Ba-dum.

He inhaled. Gently. Ba-dum.

"Will you run?"

Dean chuckled, but his eyes were a touch intenser. "That's rich coming from you. You ran from me. Several times."

Running from him. Oh. _Oh_. "I kinda remember… Should I be impressed?" He might have been, had Dean been anything less than what he was. If the strength seeping from his very core wasn't belying everything he'd ever learned about _Alphas_.

"Nope. Not a knot-head. The whole.. dominant type… reminds me too much of my old man."

"Oh, fuck, your mom?"

A sharp shake of his head, mirthless smile. "No, no, no, she'd have neutered him. Just… dominant with many, many expectations.."

He inched closer, tucking his chin lightly, dipping into the feelings he was picking up on. Dean had a few inches on him, but not by much. Ba-dum.

"Dominant doesn't need to be wrong." Their eyes held, split second, dilated.

He inched closer, nose close enough to his neck to feel the warmth. Ba-dum.

"Breathe," Dean whispered.

Ba-dum. As he gave in, his heartbeat turned into a hum.

He closed what little distance remained, eyes falling shut as he breathed in his scent and felt his soul uncoil, a pooling warmth riding his spine, unlocking his vertebrae one by one, until he fell forward into waiting arms.

"Oh, fuck.."

"Dean…"

"I got you, Cas, I got you."

He steadied himself enough, so he could look at Dean's face once more. His mind wanted to swamp Dean with unhelpful questions, which must have shown on his face, because those green eyes darkened.

"Can I kiss you?"


	4. What Do I Do? For You?

Mind blanked. Oh.

"Yes, that might work."

Dean tilted his head and frowned, a confused smile chasing some of the confidence he tended to exude. "Pardon?"

"To still my mind. Prove you're real."

Cockiness returned with a warm glow to his eyes. "Ahh, yeah, I think I can manage that."

He put his hands at Dean's waist, curling them underneath the hem of his shirt in search of skin. Dean's hands travelled up his sides and cupped his face on either side.

"_Please_, yes," he breathed out.

Human contact. His body had forgotten it could be kind and warm and gentle... So had his mind. But the scent… The scent that enveloped him, like an extra layer of winter blankets, that was new and he knew he was lost the second their lips met. It was a long kiss, gentle, searching, lips meeting over and over and over, until he moaned and wrapped his arms around Dean's neck. There was a coiled strength in Dean, he felt it in the way his arms pulled them together, but with such control, he felt safe under its pressure.

He hadn't felt safe in forever. The salt registered on his lips before the tears themselves did.

"Hey, hey, hey, Cas, it's okay."

"I… I'm sorry."

Another sweet kiss. "Honey, please stop apologizing for… being afraid. I understand."

"How are you real? How can you be real and be here?"

"Still not enough proof?"

That provoked a small surge of mischief. He knew his eyes twinkled when he looked at Dean. "Try harder?"

Dean huffed a smile and captured his lips, faster, but equally gentle. When Dean licked at his bottom lip, he whimpered and opened up, enjoying the tingles that travelled his skin, unfamiliar in their softness, as they flavored each other. Castiel pulled him closer, wanting more, deepening the kiss, but so soft, everything about this was so soft, he could cry more.

He sucked Dean's tongue, lapped at his mouth, felt Dean explore him, moving a wet trail over his jawline to his neck and licking his scent gland. Eyes flew open at the ceiling, when his blood hummed louder and he tried to pull him closer still. A low rumble vibrated through him and he whined at the promise of shelter it carried with it. The shelter of Alpha, Mate, Home, something that suddenly felt like it could possibly… maybe… hold him together.

When he looked into those green eyes, finding a kindred sense of wonder and need pooling in their depths, he hoped against hope, it might hold both of them together.

A deep hunger raced up his spine like lightning when Dean's hands traveled down his abdomen, gentle pressure augmenting it to something else, as his Omega growled, soft, insistent, demanding. Sparks lit in Dean's eyes when he felt it, a smile lighting him up from the inside and wrapping Castiel in its warmth, and then in his arms, tugging him back up towards the stairs.

"Oh, Dean…"

"Cas… Cas, Cas, Cas."

His brain had given up on the majority of his vocabulary. It wouldn't suffice anyway.

Dean encased him in his arms against the wall in the hallway, nose buried in his neck, nipping softly, a unique blend of promising to claim him and holding space at the same time, making Castiel's heart explode. He moaned as he pulled Dean into a kiss, fingers raking through the soft, sandy hair, travelling down his neck, under the shirt, kneading the muscles between his shoulders. Dean's hands pressed down on his hips, to his thighs, as their hips rolled in unison, then strong fingers butterflied over his rib cage and he giggled into the kiss. Dean huffed a laugh into his mouth and they stumbled on… remembering where they were headed.

He halted in the bedroom, remembering what he had tried. Had done.

"You built a nest," he muttered.

Dean blushed, rubbing his hand in the back of his neck. It tugged at his insides in ways nothing ever had, this peculiar mix of sensitivity and strength, of sincerity and shyness, the scent under his nose telling him it was true, real, hope incarnate, promises made, a life… and his mind wanted to question every second of it. A warning rumbled out of Dean and Castiel looked at him, realizing the fear was seeping through.

"Still more proof?"

"Yes, please," he whispered.

"I'll prove it to you every day, if I have to, Cas. Until you believe it. If you'll let me."

He frowned, the sting of tears threatening anew. "What do I do? For you?"

"Live. Living is proof to me you're real. We're real. We're not _alone_."

He closed his eyes, when Dean's fingers ran through his hair and tilted his head, exposing his neck. Dean was on him, soft lips, warm tongue and he groaned, both blindly moving to the nest. Everything was comfort. Soft. Warm. Clean. He buried his face in the duvet and pillows briefly, rolling around, basking. A weight leaned into him, covering him on one side, amused laughter near his ear. He twisted around, scooting closer and gently slide his nose along Dean's jaw, over his cheek, nipping lightly at his lips.

"Thank you for this nest."

"My pleasure.."

A hand slid up his side, under his t-shirt, and just like that he wiggled out of it, splaying both hands across Dean's chest, undoing his buttons one by one, in search of skin and warmth and _mate_. The clink of Dean's belt coming undone did something to his insides, lighting a slow-burning fire. His body was surrendering before his mind could catch up, slick sliding between his cheeks every time he moved, Dean's breathing hitching a few times as he inhaled deeper. Their scents mingling like oil paint in a glass of water, bringing something new into existence, clothing discarded as they scented each other. Neck to wrist to inner thigh and back up, sending Castiel spiraling into their bond… Bond? _Bond_. Every time his mind hiccupped and wanted to creep away from the light, he felt a tug, a nudge, a reassurance and sank deeper.

"Dean…" He breathed out through a sigh, as lips claimed his and the space between them was reduced to nothing, their legs entwined. He rolled his hips and smiled into their soft, wet kisses. Dean let out the sweetest sounds into his mouth, met by his own, soft huffs and moans in the dark of night. Somewhere, through all this, he registered the questions, the explicit request for his needs, his wants, his _consent_, before crossing a line. He sought out Dean's eyes for every one of them, his heart racing, fear lurking whenever something akin to 'no' crossed his lips, whenever he asked for something explicitly for himself, and every time, this liquid pools of green drew him in, over and under, and Dean gave him what he wanted, lips and hands exploring every part of himself he'd kept hidden.

Castiel found his Omega rising up, wanting, demanding, and voicing it, covering his eyes even in the dark, shame muting him momentarily, while Dean waited, soothed him and found his wants landing on fertile soil, when Dean granted him access in turn and it was no longer one-sided. He touched every inch of Dean's skin, drinking in the scent, the sounds, and the shelter that was rapidly growing from being around each other.

He tasted Dean, slow, deliberate, watching his face across the plane of his soft stomach and chest, lips parted, eyes heavy with want and abandon and… hands in Castiel's hair, as he pushed his legs apart. The implied trust as he gave Castiel this access and surrendered to him had him reeling. He in turn gave into his Omega's side, drawing as many sounds out of Dean as he could before the scent of his own arousal, his slick sliding down his legs into the sheets, was too heavy on the air. He knew Dean could scent it, felt his response under his tongue, under his hands, his muscles taut with want and still his Alpha waited.

Castiel was done waiting.

"Dean," he panted, kissing his way up his skin. "Dean, please…"

Strong hands cupped his cheeks and warm breath huffed over his lips. "Tell me what you want, Cas."

"You. Everything."

"How?"

Grateful at being given the choice, but at a mild loss for a few seconds, he mulled it over, knowing how he wanted it but unable to get the words out. Dean slid his hands down his back, gentle pressure reassuring.

"Don't overthink it, Cas. Just tell me how you want this. I'll give you whatever you want."

Castiel groaned, licking into Dean's mouth and slid sideways, then onto his back. "As close as you can get, as deep…" He stuttered, blushed, then pulled at Dean. "Please, give… Please lick me."

"I got you, honey," Dean said, voice low, a wanton growl emanating from his chest, as he obliged and kissed a warm trail down Castiel's body, the intent of promise in his every gesture.

He maneuvered Castiel, gentle nips of his lips, tugs with his hands, making Castiel huff a laugh, until Dean buried his nose in him, gently nosing for access and he started slowly eating him out. Two big hands hooked around his hips, pulling them into an angle and closer. Castiel twisted his hands in the sheets, legs over Dean's shoulders, hips moving in search of more… as his mind uncoiled into surrender and his body heated up to the point where he almost couldn't and yet needed more for stolen moments, he couldn't tell how long. Frantic hands reached down, sliding through Dean's hair as he repeated his name.

"Dean, more. Fill me."

The scent of Alpha wafted around him, as Dean leaned over, all wide shoulders, strong arms, warmth, scents and _claim_, his lips finding Castiel's, the taste of his saliva and slick invading his senses. He wrapped his arms around Dean, his soul around this moment, and let out the softest, lowest moan of pleasure into his mouth when Dean slid into him, filling him up. He buried his face in the crook of Dean's neck, rolling his hips, looking to close every inch of distance between them. Dean's nonsensical panted words barely registered, but warmed him from the inside out, as they moved, slow, steady, deliberate and he moaned when he felt Dean's teeth graze his mating gland.

"Oh, Dean.. Yes, please."

Dean moved, forehead to his and Castiel whimpered at the smallest distance between them, shaking his head in rising worry, then Dean kissed him, deep, requesting, and grit his name out through clenched teeth. "Cas, what do you want?"

"Claim me, mate me, Dean, please, Alpha-Mine."

Dean's eyes glowed in the dark, not red like most knot-heads he'd seen and heard of, but golden around his green eyes and Castiel shuddered through his shaky breath, smiling, his hands to both sides of Dean's glorious, freckled face.

"Cas, you're so beautiful," Dean muttered, kissing him, his jawline, his hips slowing to an agonizing pace. "Are you s…"

Castiel cut him off, nodding into the kiss, putting everything he felt and had in the moment, in his core, in his scent, if that were at all possible, and let go. With intent, he held Dean's eyes, their bond pulsing through him, his eyes alight no doubt, and slowly bared his throat. "Yes, yesyesyes, please, mate me. If you want me, Dean."

A possessive snarl. That had to be as close as Dean got to being typical Alpha, but it carried the same sense of home and safety with it, unspoken promises, Castiel was quickly falling head over heels for. For this man, this Alpha, his saving grace. "Cas, I wanted you the second I caught your scent, the second I saw your soul…"

Castiel rolled his hips, moaning as he urged Dean on. "Then take what's yours."

Dean's arms were at his back, one hand at the nape of his neck, the other sliding over his mating gland, and as he licked up his artery, Cas' blood singing through his veins, he found a pace, not punishing, never that, not between them, but fast enough for Castiel to see stars crowding his peripheral vision. His toes curled as he wrapped his limbs around Dean, moving in unison, his soul in limbo, at the same time lost in this and waiting for… that moment.

Dean's hand wrapped around his cock, a thumb circling, more for fun than anything else, because as he did so and barely gave him a few tugs, Castiel slid out of himself, chasing his orgasm to the stars and back, or he would have, if it hadn't been for the puncture at his neck, Dean's teeth invading him, anchoring him, and his eyes flew open when he heard Dean's request, a growl at his very core. "Mate me, Omega-Mine, my Cas."

Tilting his head, he obliged, sinking his teeth in, and felt Dean come inside him, as this… this took him apart and reassembled him in ways he'd never thought possible. Perhaps there was Hope yet.

_I love you, Cas_.

_I love you, Dean._


End file.
